As Is What Was is a collection of poems created with no thought at all. None. There is no control over grammar, sound, rhythm, idea, or anything really. Why? I thought it would be fun. Is it insane? Absolutely.
Some times the old days are just that
Flaking
Greying
A little idle and senile at times
A degree racist
But that’s okay we can forgive them
After all their skin and bones and blood and spit
And other fluids
Are what cemented everything that rises around,
You,
And casts its shadows and its beams and reflections
The carvings, the sculptures, the handrails,
These..ehm…edifices
So they must be worshipped right? Preserved?
Protected with our own skin and bones and blood and spit
And semen
Nah fuck that. That’s not the way things should be
Let it rot, I say. Let it flake and grey
Or so you’d think
Funnily enough if you let it go long enough
It turns green
Unruly, overrun. Vomit entrails like you have never seen before
Life! Thy sick beauty is silly
Always the new day is just